


Summer Overture

by cherryvanilla



Series: Broadway Damage [3]
Category: Actor RPF, Broadway RPF
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Overture

_June 11, 2010_

The next day you’re waiting beneath the under-hang of the Film Forum. It’s 6:40 p.m. and you already bought the tickets. Now you’re wondering if you just wasted the price of one admission. _He’s only ten minutes late_ , you tell yourself, but at the same time you were early to Daniel and he was already waiting... You lean against the brick of the building and tell yourself to stop acting like a teenage girl (honestly, you’ve watched far too much _Glee_ lately).

You spot him at the corner, hurrying down the street after exiting a cab. He’s wearing a white wife beater, denim shorts, and open-toed sandals. You weren’t expecting this much bare skin to greet you and you lick your lips, unconsciously.

“Sorry, traffic was ridiculous,” he says when he’s standing a few inches from you.

“There’s a thing called a subway, you know. I hear it’s pretty reliable.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, smart ass,” he grins back at you.

You gesture to his clothes. “Pretty soon I’m going to know all your looks and the mystery will be gone.”

He looks down at himself. “Yeah, well, this and the club is the real me. Don’t get used to the suits, Broadway.”

You’re kind of ridiculously happy that nickname has stuck. “I figured as much,” you smile at him, wanting to kiss him but not really knowing his policy on PDA’s.

As if reading your mind he pulls you in for a quick hug. His breath is warm against your ear, his voice a low rumble. “When we’re sitting in that theater I’m going to kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

Your cock twitches and you discreetly palm his side. He’s pulled away before you can respond, but you catch a small smirk playing on his lips. “Come on, let’s get tickets.”

You pull them out of the pocket of your jeans. “Done already.”

He frowns. “I invited you. It was going to be my treat.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off. “If you’re honestly that old-fashioned, you can get dinner.”

You glide past him to the door but he catches your arm, and is suddenly pressed up against your side. “I prefer to call it romantic,” he whispers in your ear and pushes past you to hold open the door.

You roll your eyes again but it’s just for show because in actuality, your heart is beating triple time and you can’t stop smiling. You’re really longing for the darkness of the theater about now.

You order organic popcorn and two waters. You let him pay even though you try to bat his hands away. You’re in your seats by the time the lights are going down for the trailers and true to his word he turns to you immediately, parting your lips with his tongue and licking over your teeth. You grasp the back of his hair, un-gelled today, and find his tongue with your own, brushing them together until you’re both moaning softly. He pulls away and yeah, you’re definitely a little breathless. He kisses you once more, and then sits back.

He doesn’t touch you but your hands bump in the popcorn more than once. About halfway through you notice his hand inching toward where your own is resting on your thigh. You feel tentative fingers brushing over your knuckles and you’re instantly charmed: he’ll kiss you until you can’t breathe and talk dirty to you on the phone but it took him over 30 minutes to try and hold your hand. You smile to yourself and turn your hand over. He laces your fingers together and squeezes. When you look over at him, he’s staring straight ahead. You squeeze his hand back in response as your heart soars a little.  
_________

You hold hands for most of the film, only releasing when it’s over. You stay through the credits, discussing the film quietly. When you walk outside it’s already getting dark. There’s a cool summer breeze in the air and it’s going to be a gorgeous night to walk.

“So, we could go to my place and order in or we could go out..” You suggest as you walk toward Bleecker.

“Your place,” he says quickly and yeah, you were hoping for that answer too.

“Okay. We can order from this Mexican place near me, if you want.”

His hand brushes yours as you walk, lingering a little too long to be an accident. “Sounds perfect.”

“I’m just a few blocks from here,” you inform. As you walk, you talk about Stonewall starting its run there next week. You both want to go but doubt you’ll be able to with your schedules. You pass the rest of the time discussing the film some more which segues into Hitchcock in general.

“Welcome to Chez Groff,” you announce with flourish upon entering your apartment. Luckily you had time to clean today. “It’s… kind of small, sorry.”

He waves you off. “It’s nice.” Right now he can see the smallish kitchen and the living room. You doubt he finds it ‘nice.’

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna grab the menu.”

When you come back he’s stretching his arms over his head and your eyes are immediately drawn to the hair under his arms and the breadth of his shoulders. You swallow and sit next to him, handing him the menu. He glances at it and chooses a vegetarian burrito without sour cream. As you’re trying to decide he practically hooks his neck over your shoulder. It’s a small, innocuous maneuver perhaps but it reminds you of Gavin – how he’d do that all the time; how it made you turn your head and kiss him and laugh because you were utterly, stupidly in love. It’s a gesture so intimate and familiar it sends your mind racing. You don’t know what he’s playing at now, when his hand brushes over the back of yours, when his breath is hot in your ear. He doesn’t need to bestow small touches on your person just to get into your pants; he must know you’re a sure bet by now.

You tell your inner monologue to cool it and decide on enchiladas.

“Be right back”, you say and walk into the kitchen, merely as an excuse to get away for a second. You order and then put the menu away.

“Do you wanna beer?” you call out, your head already in the fridge.

“Sure,” he says, very close. Your body stiffens and you force yourself to straighten up and turn. Sure enough he’s right in front of you.

The necks of the beers are cold beneath your fingers but the rest of your body is burning hot.

“Hi,” he says lowly, his hand resting on your hip, stroking lightly.

“Hey,” you breathe back. You shift forward, enough to close the refrigerator door. He maneuvers with you but pushes you against it the moment the door is closed. One of his hand dances in the curls of your hair while the other curves around your waist, fingers skimming beneath the waistband of your jeans. He closes the distance between you, mouth barely moving over yours, teasing with just a hint of tongue. You groan and grip his forearm, pulling him close until he’s flush up against you. You push your tongue between his lips until he can do nothing but fist your hair and kiss you deeper, his hips dragging against your own. You let out a soft noise and hear his answering groan. You push him backwards, stumbling toward the living room. “Couch,” you breathe, blinding setting the beers down on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah,” he agrees, tugging hard on your shirt. You take the opportunity to run your hands over all the bare skin you can find, loving the feel of his muscles: not incredibly defined by present nonetheless.

You fall onto the couch together, never breaking the kiss. You knock your leg into the coffee table on your way down, laughing against the seal of your mouths. There’s some awkward rearrangement of limps until you’re settled on top of him, his right leg bent at the knee and bracketing your thighs.

You kiss frantically, like teenagers, hands straying over arms and chests but not drifting lower until the moment he slowly licks over your teeth, pulling back to suck on your bottom lip while his hands smooth down your back to cup your ass and pull you impossibly closer. You pant against his lips and grind down, letting him feel the slow glide of your erection.

“Shit,” he grits out against the corner of your mouth. His hips thrust upward and his leg hitches to hook around your ankle. Your fingers, permanently locked on his biceps until that point, slide downward over his chest, pausing at his nipples and then lower to his flat stomach. You inch the hem of his wife beater up, fingers finding hot skin, reveling in the hair on his chest. He starts kissing his way down your neck, moaning “yeah” at the direction your hand is moving. The friction of his cock is delicious and heady and you want to have it everywhere at once.

An irritating sound cuts its way through the haze and you recognize it as your buzzer. You pull back reluctantly and run a hand through your hair, knowing full well what you must look like.

“Food’s here,” you mumble, dumbly.

“That’s fucking wonderful,” he groans sarcastically; you totally agree. He forces himself up off the couch with a heavy sigh just to fight with you about paying. You allow it; you’re too preoccupied with wanting him, to care.

Once seated you switch on PBS; they’re showing Chess Great Performances. You eat on the couch and drink your previously neglected beers while idly chatting about Idina Menzel and Adam Pascal.

Afterwards you clean up and when you return he leans in close, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna show me the bedroom?”

“Yes,” you say, voice a mere rush of air, and pull him up. Your room is cozy, in your opinion, and you refuse to be embarrassed by your theater and concert posters which don the walls. He doesn’t even look around, just pushes you toward the bed until your calves hit the edge of the bed.

He crowds over you and you fall back, hard, propped up on your elbows. His hands are on either side of your head and your legs are hanging off the edge of the bed, flat to the floor while he leans over between your legs. He kisses you, licking into your mouth wantonly. You arch upward a little and he pulls away, making for your pants. He pops the buttons and eases down the zipper, his eyes never leaving yours. He settles on the floor between your legs, parting the fabric with his hands and easing your cock out of your boxers. You gasp at the touch of his hand.

He licks his palm and starts stroking you, firmly. When his lips wrap around the head he moans like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. You arch up into the wet heat, reveling in the stretch of his lips, the feel of his tongue, broad and sure against you. He just moans some more and takes it, gripping your hips and urging you upward. You get the hint and begin fucking his mouth in slow, languid thrusts, your hand falling to the back of his neck, stroking now sweat dampened skin.

He pulls up and you bite down a moan when he flicks his tongue at the head while continuing to stroke you. When he licks a slow line up from the base your cock, you nearly stop breathing.

“God, Zach,” you groan. You can feel his lips stretch into a smile as he swallows you again.

You can’t hold back your moans anymore and start gripping his hair, your other hand absently stroking the juncture of his shoulder and neck. You love this, but god you want him, too.

“Zach, I.. fuck, let me suck you.”

He pulls off with a plop. “Hell yes,” he says, voice thick and hoarse. He surges upward and then he’s all over you: pressing you back and kissing you roughly, tugging your jeans down, stripping your shirt off. You try to return the assault but your hands are shaking, body still thrumming from the feel of his mouth.

He sits up, straddling your thighs. He tears off his wife beater in one slick move and good god, he’s fucking incredible. You run your hands up his chest, licking your lips. You make a move for his shorts, mouth suddenly salivating. You lean in and bite his nipple while pushing down his shorts as best you can.

You lick your way along his chest while your hand slides into his boxers. He groans when you grasp him. “Now,” he says, voice so low and laced with want it makes your cock twitch. You kiss him again, and then maneuver so you’re lying on your side against the pillows. Zach positions himself facing the foot of the bed and palms your thigh. You grasp his hips and lick along the crease of his groin, mouthing his balls. His cock is average size but as thick as you remember and you suddenly want it inside you.

You feel his mouth on you again, licking around the head and your hips move minutely forward. Then he’s sucking you down and you follow his motion, moaning around the smooth skin of his cock, running your tongue along the underside. He moans, sounding broken and needy so you give him all you’ve got, hallowing your cheeks and sucking hard. He groans louder, vibrating around your dick. His hands wander to your ass, squeezing lightly. You follow his lead and delight at the response it receives.

From there out it’s a literal push and pull as you thrust between mouths and hands. You come when his finger glides between your cheeks, not pushing in just a feather light tease. He catches all of you, sucking you to the root. A second later he’s coming, thick and hot in your mouth and you’re caught between too many sensations all at once. You lick away what you couldn’t catch, lazily nosing the coarse hair of his groin. He licks at your balls until you squirm away then flops down beside you, breathing heavy but a crooked smile on his face. “Damn,” he intones and cups your jaw, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “Must be all that vocal practice.”

You pinch his nipple hard. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He’s suddenly bounding off the bed and digging in the pocket of his shorts. You can’t say you mind as the view of his ass is rather spectacular. He holds up a pack of cigarettes. “You mind?”

“Nah, it’s cool.”

“I’ve mainly quit, I just kind of do it socially or… after sex. You want one?” he asks, flopping back beside you with a lighter as well.

“I’ll share yours. I’m the same kind of smoker.”

“Mm,” he says and kisses you slowly, his lips red and swollen. You taste your own cum and kiss him deeper, threading your fingers in his hair. When you pull away he’s breathing hard again and you feel entirely satisfied. He’s shaking his head in what looks like disbelief as lights the cigarette but doesn’t say anything.

You lay together, his hand lazily stroking over your hip and yours wrapped loosely around his neck. He must finally look around your room because he comments on the posters.

“Very cool,” he waves at them, exhaling. “And the whole room, too. Just.. seems like you.”

You look around at the numerous bookshelves, guitar, sheet music, stereo. He holds out the cigarette and your fingers brush. “Thanks.”

You talk about nothing at all for a little while, and then you get dressed and move to the couch. You drink another beer and watch _The Girl Can’t Help It_ (you love that he’s seen it), sitting close with his arm across your shoulder; it feels like you’re doing this backwards at times.

By the time the movie is over your head is on his shoulder and he’s dropping absent kisses on your temple. It all feels far too domestic.

“I should get going,” he tells you and part of you wants to ask him to stay but honestly, it’s a little much for a second official date. “I have an early flight otherwise I’d stay,” he adds, lips against your hair.

Maybe someday soon he’ll stop reading your mind, especially about things you don’t want to desire. You nod and completely ignore the second part of his statement, refusing to analyze it.

“Okay.”

You walk him to the door. He stops before you can open it. He looks at you, somewhat expectantly.

“I had a lot of fun,” you tell him, sincerely.

He steps in close and places a hand on the small of your back. “I had more than fun,” he says in that low rumble that seems to have a habit of undoing you. Then he’s kissing you again, his hand sliding down to cup your ass. A few moments later you’ve pushed him up against the door and his hands are sliding under the sweat pants you threw on, grabbing your ass with both hands while you grind against him.

“Jesus,” he breaks away kissing your jaw, your cheek. “Maybe I can get a later flight,” he ponders, and it startles a laugh out of you. You push away from him, grinning.

He grins back. “Okay, I’m going.”

It’s now or – well, not _never_ , but just not now. “Hey uh, you should come to my show. If you want.”

He smiles at you. “I want.”

You nod, quickly. “Cool, cool. There are two shows, uh, so whatever you wanna do. I’ll put you on the list.”

“Great. Have a safe flight,” he says, and trails a fingertip down the center of your chest. It shouldn’t make you shiver.

“You too,” you reply, and grab his hand, squeezing lightly.

His eyes are incredibly bright. “Goodnight, Jon.”

You watch him leave and count down the days until June 20th.


End file.
